


Backfire

by mustdefine



Category: Gymnastics RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 23:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mustdefine/pseuds/mustdefine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Komova is a troll, Jordyn goes along with it, and the whole thing kind of backfires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backfire

The Athlete’s Village is devoid of activity. The other girls are either trying to sleep or are loudly hanging out back at the apartment, but Aly and Jordyn aren’t in the mood for doing either. So they’ve nicked a golf cart (because Aly’s tired and Jordyn’s foot hurts and what the hell) and they’re headed for the dining hall.

Jordyn glances over at Aly. Aly’s face is composed, as if she hadn’t been knocked out of the running for an all-around medal mere hours before. They’re both happy for Gabby, of course. They have to be. But Jordyn keeps wondering what might have happened if Gabby hadn’t qualified ahead of her for the AA. Maybe it would’ve been two Americans on the podium.

Jordyn pulls up outside the dining hall. It looks deserted at this hour, which is fine with her. She and Aly walk in and survey the scene: rows upon rows of empty tables, a few bored-looking employees behind counters, two small figures off at a table near one of the hot drinks stations. 

“You hungry?” Jordyn says.

“Not really,” Aly says. 

“Tea?”

“Sure.”

They amble down the long aisle in comfortable silence. As they approach the drinks table, one of the two people sitting near it gets up and walks over to a vending machine. Pretty features, aggressively red-and-white jacket.

“What are they doing here?” Aly whispers.

Jordyn has the same question. The Russians did well in the AA. Why are they skulking (sulking?) around the dining hall?

“Let’s just get our drinks,” Jordyn says.

Aly agrees distractedly. As she sorts through the trays of tea bags, she keeps glancing over at the Russian girl by the vending machine.

“Jo, I think I’m gonna go talk to her.”

“Mustafina? Why would you want to do that? She just took your bronze.”

“That wasn’t her fault,” Aly says. “I … I’m gonna go talk to her.”

Jordyn watches Aly go and shakes her head. Aly’s been kind of obviously crushing on Mustafina throughout the entire competition. It’s just sort of funny and weird, especially because it’s been one-sided—

Jordyn frowns at the sight of the big smile that springs onto Mustafina’s face when Aly approaches. From Mustafina’s gestures, she appears to be having difficulty choosing a drink. Obviously the only option is for Aly to move closer to consult. Much closer. Mustafina appears to be repressing … is that glee?

Maybe Aly’s crush isn’t one-sided after all.

“Hoo boy,” Jordyn mumbles. It would be beyond weird if Aly hooked up with a Russian.  _It’d be, like, a war crime. Fraternization with the enemy. Also, ew, that better not happen in our room._

She checks to see what the other girl makes of all this. Komova’s craning her neck to see what her teammate is up to. She looks faintly disgusted. As she turns back, her gaze catches Jordyn’s. Komova stares rudely. Or maybe Jordyn’s the one staring.

This is her rival, the girl she beat in Tokyo, the gymnast she was supposed to face in the showdown of the quad. Instead Jordyn had to watch from the sidelines and Komova had to be content with silver instead of gold. Neither of them have had the ideal Olympics. 

Jordyn looks over at Aly and Mustafina, who are still flirting, and back at Komova, all alone at the long table. Jordyn really should consign her to the comfort of her silver medal, but …  _Oh, what the hell._  She turns to the drinks table and fills two Styrofoam cups with hot water, then scoops up a handful of tea bags and walks over.

The packets scatter in front of Komova in an arc. Jordyn sets one cup of water in front of the Russian and sits down on the opposite side of the table. “Hi,” she says.

Komova’s eyes dart around, clearly unsure why her American nemesis is suddenly acting friendly. “ _Privet_ ,” she says warily.

Jordyn selects an herbal tea. “Nice night, huh?”

Komova doesn’t answer. She leans back a little, possibly suspecting that Jordyn is about to produce a lethal weapon and leap across the table.

Jordyn makes her voice as warm as possible. “Congratulations on your silver medal.” 

“ _Spasiba_.” After a moment, Komova selects a tea bag and inspects it. She eyes Jordyn over the top. 

“I promise it’s not poisoned.” Komova might not know that word. “Uh, not bad.”

Komova shrugs. She keeps turning the packet in her fingers. At least she hasn’t flung her scalding hot water at Jordyn, which is definitely a plus.

Jordyn reviews the two topics she knows they have in common and decides against any further talk of gymnastics. Instead she nods toward the vending machine and leans forward conspiratorially. “So that’s kind of weird,” she says.

Mustafina’s somehow managing to look as seductive as humanly possible while leaning against a vending machine. Aly appears to be eating it up.

“ _Da_ ,” Komova says with a little snort of disgust.

“It’s kind of embarrassing. Like, we’re at the Olympics. We’re still competing.”

Komova thinks. “Later fun,” she says. She looks pleased with herself for stringing together such an advanced concept. Jordyn can’t help but grin in response.

“Exactly. Obviously we have to put a lid on—er, stop it, just for now.”

“Stop? How?”

“Keep them apart, I guess. Or at least keep them from making googly eyes at each other in public. It’s embarrassing.”

“‘Googly’?”

Jordyn widens her eyes and bats her eyelashes at Komova. “Googly.”

Komova laughs. “Scare!”

“Yeah, that is kind of scary.”

“No. We scare. You stand.” 

“Huh?”

“Stand!” Komova pops up and heads around to Jordyn’s side of the table. She looks mischievous. Jordyn sets her tea down and rises slowly, suddenly worried about whatever the mercurial Russian has planned.

Komova grabs her around the neck. Jordyn’s hands go to her hips automatically to steady her. “What—”

“I need American all on me! Kiss all, make happy, sex all night!” Komova says very, very loudly.

“Oh my god,” Jordyn squeaks.

Komova grabs Jordyn’s hand and clamps it on her tiny firm ass. “You touch here,” she says. And then she  _moans_.

Jordyn’s absolutely sure she should be saying something to Mustafina and Aly right now, something that will explain everything and defuse the situation, because she’s probably breaking some law just by letting this happen. But all seventy-five pounds of Viktoria Komova are, like,  _writhing_  against her right now and suddenly English is an incredibly difficult language. Jordyn sees her own horror mirrored on the other two girls’ faces.

Which is the entire point of Komova’s performance, of course. To be so over-the-top ridiculous that their teammates will be embarrassed into using a little more discretion. Yes. Yes, that’s what Jordyn needs to do. Be ridiculous.  _I can do that. OK, Wieber. Be ridiculous._

She sweeps Komova up in her arms and declaims, “Yes, my darling! I’m going to take you home and we’re going to have earth-shattering sex!”

“Sex all night!” Komova agrees.

“All the sex! All night!!”

“Um, Jo,” Aly says in a strangled voice.

“Don’t come home for at least four hours!” Jordyn yells over her shoulder. She starts walking, still cradling Komova. Mustafina shouts something in Russian. Komova ignores this in favor of gazing up at Jordyn beatifically.

“You fuck hard,” she says conversationally.

“Shut up, you insane Russian,” Jordyn hisses. She adds, more loudly in case their teammates can still hear them, “We’re gonna break some beds tonight!”

“You like Twilight?!” Komova’s eyes shine with recognition.

Jordyn sighs. The exit is still distant and Komova is heavier than she looks. “I’m more of a Buffy fan, personally …”

*  *  *

“That’s our ride,” Jordyn says, trying for a normal tone. She’s already begun regretting this evening’s choices.

“I drive!” Komova says excitedly. She actually hops up and down.

 _Is this girl even real?_ Jordyn thinks. ”No. I’m driving.”

“I.”

“No.”

“I.”

“No!” Brown eyes bore into green. “Look, do you want to be here when our teammates finally get over their shock and come outside?”

Komova frowns but hops into the passenger seat. “Drive fast,” she says.

Jordyn accelerates, hoping she won’t attract security’s notice. A block passes in silence. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

“ _Da_.” Komova looks entirely too pleased with herself.

“I mean, what we did back there was beyond insane. Aly can’t keep her mouth shut to save her life. Everyone on my team is going to think that I—that we—you know.”

“Ha!” Komova scoffs. “Russian team know I taste better for you.”

The wheel jerks under Jordyn’s hands. “What?!”

“How you say? Taste better? That place, stop.”

Jordyn pulls the golf cart up to the Russians’ apartment building. “No, uh … that would be like saying, uh, that you’re like … you know ice cream? Candy? You know candy, OK. Saying you would taste better  _for_  me is like saying that you would taste good  _to_ me, like candy. Taste, as in k—”

“Too much words. I taste better.”

Jordyn wonders if Komova knows what she’s saying. She forces an even tone as she rephrases Komova’s putdown. “I think what you’re trying to say is that you have  _better taste than to pick me_.”

“What I say before. You slow, American,” Komova taunts. There’s a dangerous spark in her eyes. Oh, she knows exactly what she’s doing.

Jordyn clenches her jaw. Komova rubs her the wrong way. Always has. The insult is the last straw. She’s tried to be nice, to make conversation, to go along with Komova’s spur-of-the-moment dramatics. She could have made Komova walk home instead of giving her a ride. Short of somehow altering history so that she and Komova could face off in the all-around like it was meant to be, there’s nothing Jordyn can do now to get back at her.

No. There is one thing. 

_Be ridiculous._

“You know what I think?”

“What?” Komova sneers.

“I think we’re going to settle this whole taste thing.” With that, Jordyn grabs Komova’s chin. Komova’s eyes widen right before Jordyn plants one on her.  _Ha,_ Jordyn thinks, and then  _What am I doing?_  The strange thing is that Komova doesn’t resist or even react much. Just kind of sits there, frozen. So Jordyn kisses her again. With tongue this time, just to add insult to injury.

After she lets Komova go, the Russian struggles for words. “Stupid crazy American!” 

Jordyn affects a disgusted look. “You know, I think I’ll stick with candy.”

Komova gets her meaning. Green eyes narrow and Jordyn could swear she actually sees steam pouring out of her ears. Komova grabs a fistful of Jordyn’s jacket and pulls her across the seat. Unwilling to let her nemesis get the edge, Jordyn responds strongly.

It’s kind of weird how good of a kisser Komova is. And how quickly competition can turn complicated and fraught. When they break apart, they’re both breathing heavily, and neither girl knows quite where to look.

Komova slides out of the golf cart. “I win,” she says, but she looks unsure of herself. 

Jordyn regains control of her breathing. Remembers she has a trump card of sorts. “No. I win. You know why? Because I like boys, not girls, and even if I was into girls you wouldn’t have a chance in hell with me.”

“You not like girls?”

“No. Not even a little.” At least she’d thought she hadn’t. Jordyn desperately tries to think of something to say, because it sure looks like Komova is formulating a retort. “Well, I’ve got things to do. I’m outta here. You have a good night now, sugar butt!”

“Sugar butt?!”

Jordyn blows her a kiss and steps on the gas pedal before she loses her verbal momentum. “Bye!” 

“Wieber—!”

Jordyn floors it. “Oh my  _gooood,”_ she wails quietly. 

When Aly comes back to their room ( _well_  before the allotted four hours) to find Jordyn staring blankly into the middle distance, she demands to know where Komova’s hiding. Jordyn makes some weak excuse about Komova going home to rest for event finals. Aly just shakes her head. “Good grief, Jordyn. Try to be more discreet, OK? You never know who’s watching.”

“Yeah,” Jordyn says absently. The image of a confused, annoyingly cute Russian floats before her mind’s eye. “Good advice…”


End file.
